CHAPTER TWO

C RISTHIAN DID NOT consider himself particularly uptight, despite a life well organized to suit his needs. He enjoyed women, wherever and whenever the opportunity presented itself. He was not choosy.

But he was usually careful. There were ground rules set. He was in control, so that nothing messy came from such an encounter. He ordered his life just how he liked it—whether that be business or pleasure. This had always been...easy.

This woman had blasted rules and control all to hell. He had driven too fast, breaking too many laws, with one hand curled in her hair. While her mouth had been pressed in impressively imaginative ways against his neck.

He could not remember a more desperate stumble into any of the many apartments and homes he owned, no needy rush to a hotel room in his many travels. He could not recall a time when the only possible thought in his head was to explore every last inch of her naked body, over and over again. Not since he’d been a teen eager for that first taste of something he only barely understood had he ever felt so out of control.

Control, that tenet to his life, but she seemed too pretty a flame to try to tame. She was brave and impetuous, but with something more careful underneath. Something that spoke to him, as if it needed tending. He had no desire to structure her in some way to suit his needs. He’d rather just...experience something. Without those rules and lines he knew kept him safe.

There was something revelatory in a lack of safety, of control. And the way the minute they stepped inside his hotel suite, she wrapped around him like the tide, pulling him under, into wave after wave until he was drowning in her. Her short hair was silk in his fisted hand, her mouth a fire of need against his.

He pressed her against the door he’d just closed. Unwinding her arms from his neck so he could pull the dress up and off of her.

Her eyes met his, that blue that didn’t fit at all. And yet they were still part of that ocean pulling him under. That and the slender, athletic body underneath. Not his usual type, and yet his mouth watered .

Her underthings were silk, terribly expensive, and any alarm bells that rang in the back of his head that she might be more than he bargained for, that she might know who he was despite the fact that they hadn’t exchanged names, were completely muffled by the sound she made when he pressed his hand between her legs.

He took his time exploring the contours of her body while she shivered and begged. He slid the straps of her bra down, following the slope of her shoulder with his mouth. She unbuttoned his shirt, pushed it off him.

It was like a battle. Fencing, maybe. Move and countermove. His mouth on her breast. Her hands on his zipper. Her mouth hot, needy, demanding. And yet she submitted to every demand of his own.

She tasted like some brand-new delicacy, felt like some hidden garden that grew things he’d never seen before. He didn’t recognize himself or the strange sensations ricocheting inside him as he devoured her mouth with tongue and teeth.

Her hand fisted over him, gave one slow stroke. “Now,” she panted, meeting his gaze. It was an order, and yet... “Please,” she added breathlessly.

There was nothing else beyond that please . Not a second’s thought. Only a need so all-encompassing he’d later wonder if he’d suffered some sort of medical event that had rendered him completely brain-dead.

He lifted her and with quick strides had her laid out on the large, luxurious bed. He rid himself of the rest of his clothes in seconds flat, moved over her, slid home with a pounding desire that blotted everything else out except the slow, slick slide of perfection.

She exploded around him in a rush, so hot and fast it nearly took him out. The word kismet seemed to dance around them, like by uttering such a silly pickup line at that bar he had spoken it into existence.

Fate. Destiny. Her.

He didn’t even know her name. But that seemed such a shallow thing in the moment. In the panting of her breath, the soft velvet of her skin. The molten give of her.

He rolled her on top of him, and she balanced herself with two hands on his chest. She grinned down at him.

She moved against him, arching that beautiful body. He slid possessive hands down her sides, then urged her to move faster. To chase these things rioting inside him. He toyed with her nipple and her breathing hitched, the graceful pace she’d set fractured.

Into something wild. Frenzied. There was only the sounds of their breathing, interrupted moans and sighs, their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm. She cried out, shuddered over and over again, and still he held on to that tiniest thread of control.

He rolled her under him, slowed it down to take every ounce of pleasure out of every second. Her moan was a shot of adrenaline. That lost look on her face would stay etched into his memory, possibly forever.

When he followed her over that last edge, he couldn’t help but feel like they’d both been found.

Zia had to leave. She shouldn’t have stayed as long as she did. It was nearly morning. Not only did she have a plane to catch, but this man could never know who she really was. The more time she gave him, the more ammunition she gave him to figure out her secret.

Throughout the course of the evening, he’d looked at her slightly sideways, like he suspected something. But she’d only needed to kiss him, touch him to make that look disappear.

She couldn’t risk more, no matter how much she wanted to.

Regret didn’t coil inside her like a weight so much as a wistful kind of longing. For a different life, where she could enjoy any kind of intimate relationship without fear all her misdeeds—meant or inadvertent, true or false—could be sold to the press for so much money it would be hard to blame a person for it.

She thought maybe she could live under the weight of the press’s scrutiny, but she would not be able to live under the weight of her parents’ forever disappointment. She’d already caused them too much grief. It wasn’t their fault, any more than it was hers, that they were the king and queen. It was simply the happenstance of the world.

And her world meant responsibility. Because if she didn’t meet it, Beaugonia would suffer. Her parents did not understand Beaugonia. They saw her lack of following their rules as defiance, some act of violence instead of just who Beau was. So true to herself she couldn’t pretend. But it wasn’t that simple, or Beau wouldn’t suffer from the panic attacks that had their parents viewing her as something...inferior.

No, Zia wouldn’t let that be Beau’s fate. When she was home, her parents focused on her, on the upcoming wedding. On plans for Lille’s partnership with Lyon’s home country, Divio.

Then it would be Beau’s turn for freedom.

So Zia eased out of the warm, soft bed, away from the large, gorgeous man, still fast asleep.

Zia was an expert at sneaking around. Her entire adolescence had been a study in it. The more guards her father had put on her, the sneakier she’d had to be.

The king would be at his wits’ end today, worrying if she’d come back at all. Making plans for if she didn’t. And all of those plans would be ready to be accomplished the second she broke her promise.

If she didn’t make her flight, all hell would break loose.

Zia’s time was up. She should be satisfied. Happy she got to do all the things she wanted.

She collected her discarded clothes, then gave him a look over her shoulder. He didn’t so much as stir. For a moment, she felt the strangest pang. She’d gone into this knowing it was a fling. A one-night stand, and she had no doubt he had done the same. He’d made that clear.

Maybe it had gotten a little muddled in the time in between. When he’d fed her and they’d laughed over steak sandwiches and a bottle of wine. They had not gotten into their personal lives, but they had spoken of places they’d traveled.

He was even more well-traveled than she and could weave entertaining stories of even the most boring museums. He was a fascinating man...even when she knew nothing about him.

So when they’d fallen into his bed again, it had been like they were old friends. When they’d dozed together and turned to each other all over again, she’d had the passing thought of how nice a life like this might be. Not two people fighting for control. Just a kind of...comradery. A partnership. A friendship. With amazing sex thrown in.

Muddled, yes, her feelings were, but the sex was not. It was explosive. Irresistible. An unquenchable hunger, like they were each a dessert they couldn’t quite get enough of no matter how they gorged themselves.

But it was over now. There would be no going back. She would be married come spring. Maybe...maybe she could find some semblance of this with her husband, the crown prince.

But Zia doubted it.

Lyon had made it clear that, like her father, he had expectations, roles for her to fill. He was not interested in her . He would not ask her opinion on the music in the club or make her a sandwich. Even meeting the prince only twice, she knew this.

But she had also known her whole life, she was not destined for all the normal and simple she craved. She was a princess. The heir. Her only role was for her country.

No matter how joyous, how right this week, last night had felt.

The future felt like a dead weight in her chest—not a new feeling, but it felt heavier now. Because she’d seen what could be this week. She’d thought that would give her the relief to make it through her responsibilities.

But instead it had given her a taste of joy. Not just him , but everything she’d done this week. To walk the streets a nobody. To window-shop without guards, or an assistant having to make the purchases for her. To experience all the normalcies of life, on her own, and not worry about taking a misstep that Beau might be punished for. Because for all she rebelled in the privacy of the castle, she had known her parents would inflict an incredible avalanche of pain if she did it in public.

In this week, she got to make mistakes. She got to be whoever she wanted to be. Rude. Polite. Overzealous. Hysterical.

In absolute lust with a complete stranger.

Oh, she knew she was privileged, but her privilege came with a price, and sometimes that price felt so heavy she could scarcely breathe. And still it was the privilege, and her sister back home, that meant she knew she had to follow her responsibilities.

Back to Lille. To a marriage she didn’t want. A prison sentence when she wasn’t sure what crime she’d ever committed except being born the pretty twin. The elegant twin. The one with natural social graces and whose panic didn’t take over at any given moment.

Careful not to sigh, she slid out of the hotel suite, put back together as best she could be. She took a taxi to the airport and flew back home.

Back to being Princess Zia Rendall.

And all the weight that went with that.